Balls and Boxes

Balls and boxes, specifically the sort found in the gym, are my nemesis.  Interacting with them always seems to require a degree of balance that I certainly do not have.  I'd even argue that they necessitate a type of motion that is decidedly unnatural.  I mean, when was the last time that you saw a hyroglific depicting a human standing on a ball doing squats.

Incidentally, both the ball and the box also seem to bring out the worst in me.  Believe it or not, I am generally pretty amiable during my training sessions.  I think it has something to do with the notion that the trainer clearly knows what is best for me--and cheating at the gym is only cheating myself.  Ok, ok...in all honesty is it probably more because it is just not smart to piss someone off who has my fate in his hands for 3 hours a week.

Regardless, the fun-friendly Aryn seems to fly (or limp, as the case may be), out the window when a ball or box enters my sightline.  It takes every bit of self control to stifle the belligerence that wells up as the dreaded apparatus comes nearer.

Fortunately, my trainer has the patience of a saint.  He humors my mini-tantrum (I'm exaggerating a bit) and promptly compels me to commence whatever unnatural motion he deems necessary to inflict upon me.  Needless to say, once I have completed the task at hand, I'm as proud as proud can be--it's the little things, I suppose.

In other news, I lost 2.8 lbs last week.  It's a start (and a big improvement over my .4 lbs the week prior)!!